Reflections
by The Light-Hearted Fool
Summary: Zelda marvels over the majesty of the physical body in front of her mirror at the end of a long day.


**Author:** The Jester  
**Rating:**PG-13?  
**Warnings:** Nothing big, I think. AU-ish?

**Disclaimer**: The rights to Legend of Zelda belong to Nintendo, of which the author and editor of this piece of fan fiction are not a part. This piece has not been written for profit, neither is it in circulation for profit.

Zelda didn't need fancy attendants to help her dress and undress. She'd experienced a time without such "comforts" and decided that she preferred to do without. Attendants undressed and redressed her without leisure, for modesty's sake. She did not know whether it was modesty or shame that gave them their quickness. Either way, skin liked to breathe, and Zelda liked to let it.

It was early in the evening, yet; the sun was still out, and the light bathed her room in several shades of warmth. Her bedroom windows were high enough, her bedroom door was locked, and she had plenty of time to let her skin breathe in the gentle breezes. She had no need to rush into her bedclothes, and neither had she the want.

Zelda regarded herself, contentedly, in the full-body mirror. She was clad only in her skirts, having paused to regard the skin already showing. Her neck was graceful, though it was not the epitome of feminine beauty. While it was not short, it did not have the frail length some artists liked to depict. She was actually pleased at that. A long neck was more prone to injury, and the neck was a rather important part of the body.

Her shoulders were round and their breadth was wider than the typical woman, but Zelda thought they were tastefully suited to her. Her skin had hardly a blemish, save for a particularly dark (and particularly noticeable) freckle on her shoulder, round and easily noticeable from the distance she stood from her mirror. She liked the blemish. A flawless white diamond is all very well and good, but even the tiniest flaw could change its composition to something as grand as a different color.

(She rather liked blue-green diamonds.)

Blemishes were merely wonders of the body; a freckle was merely a concentration of pigmentation. It was the same substance that made the skin tan. The skin was built for protecting itself, after all. It could regenerate itself (to an extent) and it could darken to offer protection from the sun. It was a wondrously devised system.

Zelda trailed her hand idly from her shoulder to her chest, moving over, then under one of her breasts, cupping it lightly. They were on the small side, but that had its own benefits. She had a better build for gymnastics and feats of agility that top-heavy women couldn't manage. Aesthetically, she knew that her smaller ones would hold up better (she smiled a little at the pun) over time; the light weight would allow her breasts to stay more pert with her body's growing age.

Downwards she ran her hand, smoothing over her abdomen; soft, pale, and vulnerable. The underbelly was the among the most unprotected parts of the body. It was not protected by the skeleton, and was the location of a number of vital organs. Some creatures bared their bellies to submit, while some higher entities, like the Gerudo, bore it to be daring. Obviously, that had its ups and downs.

One was typically less inclined to attack the obvious and open target, especially when Gerudos were concerned. It was easier to guard the stomach from attacks, as well, if one was certain most attacks would land there. However, it gave less focus to protecting other vital parts of the body – the stomach wasn't the only part of the body in need of decent defense. And, of course, there was inherent risk, because no one is perfect and even a Gerudo could find herself impaled through her abdomen.

In the end, Zelda was no Gerudo warrior – no mistress of whirling blades. Really, she wasn't any sort of fighter at all. So, Zelda kept her stomach covered when about in public.

She released the fastens that held her skirts up, and watched as they slid over her hips and down to the floor. The cloth flowed almost like water, and puddle on the floor in a similar fashion. She stepped from the soft puddle and examined her legs in the mirror. They were smooth and hairless, though not without effort. Hairless legs offered more pleasing tactile sensations. Fine fabrics were glorious brushing against her smooth legs.

Of course, it was also more lady-like, but that hardly influenced Zelda's choice. Princess though she may have been, she did not do anything for the soul purpose of being lady-like. No one saw her legs but her and, had she been married, she would prefer any spouse to care more for her being than her legs. So, logically, her legs would be bare out of _her_ personal preference.

Zelda propped one of her legs up on an ottoman, and began to smooth a light lotion over the skin. Her leg muscles were more worked than her other muscles. She did plenty of walking up and down stairs through the expansive castle, especially in the expansive library. While that didn't do much in comparison to others' strenuous activities, it was enough to make her legs stronger than other muscles in her body.

She switched her legs, smoothing the lotion over her other one. Zelda did not know if the firmness of her legs was unattractive to others. They did not bulge with strength (how could they? She was certainly _not_ that active), but, beneath the skin, her flesh was not soft and gentle. The idealized beauty of a princess was soft and pliant, was it not?

Plenty was expected of her physical beauty, however, and she was always unwilling to restrict herself for its sake. Zelda stood fully in front of the mirror, again, (almost) fully regarding herself. Certainly, for all the merit of her appearance, she was no ideal beauty. Praise be to the Goddesses for that. Idealized beauty was as shallow as aesthetic art.

With that thought in mind, she removed the last of her underclothing, sliding it down her hips until gravity pulled it down to the ground. There she stood, in her truest glory: all her, all unique, and more than mere woman. For she had, nestled in soft golden curls, more than a princess's secrets.

She ran her fingers over the inside of her thigh, and up and down her labia, before running it down the length of her own phallus. It certainly took a good deal of understanding to not shy away from, or be repulsed by, a body that dared to tread outside of the realm of typical gender. It was certainly a gift, in Zelda's mind. She loved to let her body breathe, content in the evening air.

Sometimes she felt it was the only great freedom she could grant it.

Zelda idly tugged at her short gold curls, regarding herself in the mirror, still. She had drawers full of lovely silken sleeping-gowns, but she didn't much feel like wearing them. The night would feel wonderful against her skin, and she had a great want to let it breathe.

So, she gathered up her tossed-aside garments, feeling light and free in her resolve, before tossing them into her laundry hamper. Skirts were very nearly lies, and Zelda was happy being honest in the night. With a light laugh, she spun around in a dance with her equally joyous reflection, before falling into her soft bed.

Through her window, she could see the rich dusk settling over sleepy Hyrule. Soon, another morning would come, and Zelda would hide her honesty another day. For the night, though, she was Zelda – no mere princess, and no mere woman. As honest as ever a creature was created by the loving hands of the Goddesses.

* * *

**End Notes:** Does this revelation on Zelda's gender change any readers' opinions on this fic? Why, or why not? Does it matter that Zelda has a penis?

Please, share your opinions with me, on this one. I want to know how people think.


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